


On The Lemonade

by ThayerKerbasy



Series: The Misadventures of Growley and Squirrel [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bromance, Bromance burns brighter than the sun, Demon Dean, Epic Bromance, M/M, Mark of Cain, Post-Episode: s09e23 Do You Believe In Miracles?, Pre-Episode: s10e01 Black, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 12:25:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7508218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThayerKerbasy/pseuds/ThayerKerbasy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Mark of Cain so generously gave Crowley a brand new Knight of Hell, but the bromance was up to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On The Lemonade

Sitting at the bar in some North Dakota dive, Crowley smiled and raised his beer to his lips, drinking sparingly. Certainly not his favourite drink – not by a long shot – but it was Dean's. The man in question sat on the stool beside his own, drinking much more enthusiastically. Crowley had plans for the night, and if cheap beer was the only compromise he had to make, he'd be surprised.

It had been two weeks since the Mark of Cain had given Crowley a gift-wrapped Dean Winchester, brand new demonic Knight of Hell. Two weeks of bar hopping, binge drinking, karaoke singing, foosball playing, and one-night stands. Honestly, it wasn't half bad, all things considered. He would much prefer a more refined environment, ideally with decently-aged scotch, but the bar put Dean at ease. It was the first step in any delicate negotiation, to ensure the client was in a good mood so they'd be more willing to entertain his suggestions. Two weeks of the local nightlife had put Dean in a very good mood.

The danger of putting the client in such a good mood was that they'd get too comfortable. They'd kick back, relax, figure they were holding all the cards so they wouldn't take the deal. It took finesse to get a person to that level of comfort where they were ready to deal without going past it. Not for nothing was Crowley still considered the king of the crossroads. But this was no crossroads deal. If he played his cards right, Dean wouldn't even realize there was a deal here at all.

“What say we rustle up a game of snooker? I could do with a bit of a change,” he ventured. Thus far Dean had stayed clear of the pool table and while Crowley couldn't be sure why, he had his suspicions. Once upon a time, Dean had been forced to make ends meet in whatever ways he could. Well, once upon a time, so had a young Fergus McLeod. Crowley could guess why his unlikely companion might be avoiding the source of some of those memories, but it was time for him to learn what being a demon was all about.

Dean didn't answer right away, but instead chugged the remainder of his beer. Crowley tracked the movement of his throat and waited in silence. Never rush a negotiation. Finally, Dean set down his empty bottle and licked his lips free of the last traces of beer. “I ain't playin' no fancy crap. If you wanted to shoot some plain damn pool I might be game though.”

Crowley allowed a trace of a smile. “I could be persuaded to play with your balls, darling. But let's make it interesting. How about, winner gets to choose what the loser drinks next round.”

Of course Dean couldn't let it stand at that. “Screw that. If I win, you do a round of karaoke.”

Not what he'd expected, but acceptable. “And if I win, we upgrade to a better quality establishment.”

If the raised eyebrows were anything to go on, his counteroffer hadn't been expected either. After a moment's consideration, Dean shrugged and nodded. “Alright. Better go stake a claim on a table then.”

Dean took the time to order another beer, leaving Crowley to claim said pool table. He didn't mind really. He might have minded if he hadn't already had a pair of demons parked at a pool table. It only took a moment to gesture them outside with a flick of his head towards the door. His subordinates nodded and left without a word. Well-trained minions were few and far between. He'd have to make sure to keep those two.

Crowley had the balls racked up and his cue chalked by the time Dean returned with a new beer and something with a pink umbrella. “Think I didn't see you sipping that beer like you thought it'd bite? I asked the dude tending bar to get you the fruitiest girl drink he could think of. I dunno what it's called, but it smells like a damn fruit salad.”

He took the drink and gave it an indulgent sniff. “That's why they call it a fruit cocktail. I'd protest you ordering for me, given we didn't agree to that wager, or even play yet for that matter, but I suppose my dirty little secret is out.” He delicately removed the tiny umbrella and took a sip. “Honestly, you should try it some time. Allow yourself to indulge in something a little more refined.”

The look and accompanying eye roll Dean gave in response should probably have been patented and slapped with a label reading, “Really? Get over yourself.” He then raised his beer and pointedly took a long swallow, demonstrating an almost sensual enjoyment of the brew and doing borderline obscene things with his tongue. Crowley stared with unabashed interest and traced his finger through the condensation on his glass. When Dean set his beer down on the corner of the pool table, neither spoke for a long moment. Finally, Dean gave him a considering look, then selected his own cue and chalked it. “I'm gonna assume you know the rules.”

Crowley shrugged eloquently. “I've played my fair share of proper English billiards. How different could it be, really?”

Dean sighed. “Let's keep it simple then. One of us sinks stripes, the other solids. You can break and whatever you happen to sink, that's what you'll shoot for. Sink a ball and you get to shoot again, but if you don't sink anything, your turn's over. Don't need to call your shots, but when one of us has sunk all our balls, you need to call your shot and sink the 8 ball. If either of us sinks the other's ball, sucks to be you, it still counts for whoever needed it sunk. Sink the cue ball and you have to put one of your balls back on the table. Got it?”

Nodding slowly once, Crowley set his drink down and moved to the side of the table with the balls racked and ready. “Seems fairly straightforward.”

His first shot sank one of each so he cast Dean an inquiring look. Dean shrugged and said, “Pick one.” With a smirk, he chose stripes and proceeded to sink another. He could have landed a third but he decided to deliberately miss on his next shot. Nobody liked a one-sided game. As the cue ball slowed to a stop, Dean returned his smirk and said, “Little too much english on that one.”

Crowley waited until Dean was lining up his shot before answering, “No such thing as too much English, sweetheart. Results in some lively action. Could use some action.”

Taking a moment to glare at him with momentarily black eyes, Dean lined up his shot again and sank the ball he'd been aiming for. Moving around the table for his next shot put him close to where Crowley was standing to watch. Taking another sip of his drink, Crowley lightly tapped the back end of Dean's cue when the man bent down to angle his shot. “Best to be watching your butt there, love.”

Having expected it, he was able to avoid being hit by said cue butt when it was abruptly thrust towards him. He nimbly sidestepped out of the way, then returned to his drink, but he couldn't keep the smile off his face. Dean sank that shot too, but his distraction showed in the second ball that should have also landed but didn't. The cue ball rolled to a halt and Dean turned on him, his expression clearly containing something conflicted. Finally, the corner of Dean's mouth twitched upwards and he said, “I'll do whatever the hell I want with my butt.”

Dean sank his next shot and the one after that with ease. Crowley even let him off without any added commentary, content to sip his drink and watch. On a whim, he tucked the wee umbrella into his jacket lapel. As the elder Winchester sent his sixth ball ricocheting off another ball and sinking it smoothly, Crowley raised his glass and called out, “That was a lovely little kiss on those balls.”

If Crowley had said such a thing to Dean before the Mark of Cain had its way with him, the hunter probably would have stammered something like, “Yeah? Well, I'll kiss your... balls...” and blushed like a schoolgirl. While that might have been endearing, Crowley was pleased to see that demonic Dean did nothing of the sort. Instead, he fired back, “I've always been a good kisser. I also happen to be a damn fine teacher.”

Well now, that was an interesting development. Dean went on to pot his seventh ball nicely, putting a bit of backspin on the cue ball so it traveled slowly and nudged its target right into the hole. He then stopped to waggle his eyebrows at Crowley before inquiring, “Like my bottomspin there?”

Now casually reclined against the wall, Crowley propped his cue against the wall beside him. “Be still my beating heart. On my side of the pond we call that a good screw.”

He got a grin in response to that. With nothing of his left on the table but the 8 ball, Dean pointed with his cue to a corner pocket. There was a clear path between the cueball and the 8 ball, and yet, the showoff insisted on a more complicated rebounding shot that still managed to land beautifully. Dean whooped triumphantly, abandoned his cue against the wall, and reclaimed his beer. “Well? Whadda ya think about that?”

With great effort, Crowley kept his face carefully controlled, displaying only the slightest hint of a smile on his lips while delight danced in his eyes. “I think,” he began, “you have a good stroke and you handle your wood well. I also think that I now owe you a performance, love, though I would much prefer that you join me.”

Dean's grin grew predatory and his eyes flickered green to black, then back to green. “Hell, why not? I'll even let you choose the song.”

On their way over to browse song selections, Crowley noticed three rather handsome gentlemen regarding them with significant interest. A quick glance told him that Dean had also noticed and returned the interest. On a whim, he winked at them and smiled charmingly. They immediately responded with smiles and welcoming gestures. He turned again to Dean and asked,“I think those three might appreciate a private performance, don't you agree?”

Inwardly, Crowley congratulated himself. Everything was going exactly as planned. Dean Winchester and Crowley, besties forever.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is an entry for SPNColdestHits for the month of July. Please refer to http://spncoldesthits.tumblr.com/post/146648925185/ for details. I used the prompt from this post http://ao3tagoftheday.tumblr.com/post/141099561955
> 
> First time hitter here, but I don't expect mercy. Please know though that I don't intend to sabotage any of you. If my fellow hitters drop by, I'd appreciate if you restricted your comments to something that doesn't look like it was left by a spam bot. Thank you.


End file.
